


Prophecy's End

by RenBasel



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aro/Ace Serana, Dawnguard, Gen, No Dragonborn, Post main quest, Post-Dawnguard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 06:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12500692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenBasel/pseuds/RenBasel
Summary: Harkon is dead, and Serana has parted ways with the Dawnguard to bring her mother home, and to grieve. But home is full of bitter ghosts, and Serana has changed too much since she first left.Content warnings: Minor violence, blood, parental abuse implied





	Prophecy's End

**Author's Note:**

> I finally finished the Dawnguard questline, and, honestly, I was kind of disappointed. The fight with Harkon was fun, and his death was pretty gruesome, but after that, it felt like there should have been some more denouement. Serana's been through hell and back, and that kind of thing changes a person.
> 
> So I decided to write about it.
> 
> This was intended to just be a short one-shot, so I highly doubt I’ll come back to it. Be sure to check out my other Skyrim fic, Triumvirate, if you’d like to see more! Serana probably won’t show up there, but there are plenty of others who will.
> 
> Also Serana is canonically aro/ace, fight me.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter @JennBasel for updates and links to my original work. Be sure to leave some kudos and a comment if you enjoy this fic! Thanks!

The moons were small in the sky. Serana looked up at the stars as she navigated the old rowboat toward Castle Volkihar. She pondered the constellations, wondering who had first seen the pictures in the heavens, and who had first named them. As ancient as she was, the names they had now were still the same as they had been when she was young.

Castle Volkihar loomed before her. She secured her boat when she reached the island, and she bit her lip, drawing blood. Her father was dust and the castle's halls stood crumbling and empty, as unmourned as its old inhabitants, but still it intimidated her.

The Dawnguard hunter who killed her father had moved on, off to bigger and better things, Serana's father another notch on their crossbow. They had offered to take her with them on their adventures, but she needed time. To process, to catch her breath. To grieve.

She liked the hunter, despite their allegiances, and perhaps she would seek them out again someday. But for now, she needed to go her own way.

Time had passed since they killed Harkon, but not enough, and Castle Volkihar’s halls were filled with reeking corpses. Some belonged to old friends Serana had known since she was small. Those she mourned, and for them she offered words as she fed them to the stormy sea. The rest followed the first without ceremony.

In the cellars she found humans, some dead and some half-starved. Those who were still alive were beyond help and hope, and so Serana gave them what mercy she could. If she took their blood for herself, well, that was just practicality.

Their bodies followed the rest, cast into the churning sea.

And then came what she’d been dreading, but what couldn’t be put off any longer.

Serana navigated the ruined undercroft, retracing steps until she once again found her mother’s study. The portal to the Soul Cairn was as she had left it, gowing purple, open, ready for her to descend the cracked stone steps. 

She squared her shoulders and stepped into the portal’s depths. 

Shimmering faces followed her as she walked the path, but none bothered her. The last time she had come, coal-black skeletons and flickering wraiths dogged her steps, but this time they let her be. She wasn’t sure if she was grateful for that or not. Fending them off would have been a distraction from her troubled thoughts.

When Serana approached the courtyard where her mother dwelled, Valerica’s back was to her as she worked at her potions. Serana opened her mouth to call to her, but hesitated, uncertain. She didn’t know how her mother would react.

Valerica put down her mortar and pestle, and turned. Serana tensed, squaring her shoulders, almost wishing she had stayed in Riften instead of coming home.

The fear was obvious on Valerica’s face. “Serana? What’s happened? Are you alright?”

The words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Father is dead.”

Valerica’s sharp brows came together. “Dead? You’re certain?”

“I helped the Dawnguard slay him myself. I’m certain.”

Serana didn’t tell her mother that it had been awful; that he screamed in anguish and rage, and collapsed like a discarded ragdoll. She didn’t tell her mother that he hadn’t even left a body, but, rather, a smoking puddle of gristle and gore that made multiple members of the Dawnguard retch.

The gleeful look on Valerica’s face made Serana wonder if her parents had ever loved each other, even for a moment. It had been so long since she was a child that if there was any fondness there, it was like a half-remembered dream.

“Let me pack my things,” Valerica said. She sounded as if she’d had the breath knocked from her, though she didn't need to breathe. “Then we can go home. It will be good to tend the garden again. Come, Serana, help me with this.”

Serana blinked away unexpected tears, held her tongue, and helped her mother with her things.

~~~

Valerica’s relief at finally coming home didn’t take long to turn to rage. That the castle was in such a ruined state angered her enough, but the venom she directed at Serana after hearing the full story of Harkon’s demise was unbearable.

“You let vampire hunters into our sanctum,” she hissed one night, as Serana helped her drag dead brush out of the courtyard. “One was bad enough, but you enabled a massacre. How could you do this?”

“I couldn’t kill him on my own,” was Serana’s tired response. 

“They butchered everyone! Would you have let them kill me, had I been here?”

Serana squared her shoulders against her mother’s temper and said simply, “You weren’t.”

~~~

The night Valerica spirited Serana away to Dimhollow, they departed in secrecy. No one knew they'd left until long after they were gone, huddled in a rowboat, hugging the coastline so the Sea of Ghosts didn’t swallow them whole.

The night Serana stormed out of her mother’s study, there was no secrecy, only fury and regret. She'd made the decision to leave weeks before, but lacked the courage to actually do it. Leaving Valerica so soon after finding her again seemed cruel, to both of them. But Serana couldn’t take her mother’s anger, her bitterness, or her hairline temper any longer. 

So she gathered what few things she had, and she left. 

She knew better than to turn up on the Dawnguard’s steps again. Isran had tolerated her only while she was useful, and she had no illusions about his hospitality now that Harkon was dead. The best she could hope for was tolerance so long as she swore to make the trek to Morthal, to find the wizard rumors said could make any vampire human again.

Serana had been through too much to seek a cure now. Morthal was not an option.

Solitude was perhaps too close to Castle Volkihar for Serana’s liking, but Valerica loathed cities and their people. She wouldn’t bother Serana in Solitude or anywhere else. The castle would be Valerica’s tomb, the same as it was Harkon’s. 

Skyrim was still reeling from wounds sustained in war and dragonfire, and Serana knew approaching in the dead of night would only get her turned away. The sun was harsh on her skin and brutal on her eyes, but she put up her thick leather hood and bore the discomfort as best she could. The gate guards let her in after a brief interrogation--who was she, where had she come from, what was her business in the capital? She lied her way through the entire thing, claiming to be a traveler from Riften, in town to visit friends. 

If the guards were suspicious, clever wordplay and a hypnotic tone took care of that. Vampirism had its perks.

Serana had no money and no idea what to do with herself. Desire to get out of the sun led her to a tavern advertised by a painted sign as the Winking Skeever. The place was almost empty at that time of day. The venue seemed to be owned by a Nord family, who milled around ferrying food and drink or just tidying up. A surly Argonian sat in an alcove, and across the room, listening to a young bard, was a grizzled old sellsword.

The tavern had a quiet, friendly atmosphere. Serana decided she liked it. Unnoticed by publicans or patrons, she settled into an empty corner, put down her hood, and let herself relax.

She had lived so long that time meant little, and it seemed that the hours passed in moments. Traffic in the tavern ebbed and flowed, and as it approached dinnertime, it slowly began to fill with workers and families.

Serana wondered if any of them knew how close they had come to becoming prey for her father’s sadistic court. It was probably better that they didn’t know. She wished she didn’t know.

It occured to her while she watched the rest of the tavern eat that she hadn’t had a good feed in some while. Daughters of Coldharbour needed less than other vampires, and she needed none at all when she went into a hibernating stasis, but as soon as she was freed of Dimhollow, her hunger had returned. The emaciated prisoners in her father’s castle had only provided so much nourishment.

In the time she was partnered with the Dawnguard, she tried to feed as little as possible, and never in their presence. The hunter who slayed her father allowed her a small morsel of their blood, from time to time, but it had been a sustaining snack, never a meal.

She was ravenous.

Her father taught her to be fearless. Mortals were prey, and she was a god among them. Her mother taught her to be cautious. Mortals were dangerous, every one a potential hunter of their kind. So she knew what power she wielded, but knew better than to use it carelessly. Abducting someone off the street was unwise, and invited messy questions. It wasn’t as if the people of Skyrim were unaware of vampires. If she killed carelessly, it wouldn’t take them long to root her out.

Serana put her hood back up and slipped out of the Winking Skeever, an idea beginning to form. 

~~~

Solitude’s prison was crowded. Soldiers captured in war, petty criminals, murderers, worse, many and more. There had been a time Serana might have tried to figure out who was the worst in the bunch, and rationalize her hunger as a way to punish those who had done evil. But she was too old for that, and too hungry. She chose at random, and rationalized her hunger only as a base need, not a moral duty to purge the wicked.

She chose a Nord man who seemed fresh to his cell, still plump and rosy. He woke when she drew him up from his straw bed, but was silenced by Serana’s hypnotic gaze before he could cry out. 

Putting fangs to neck as always intimate, whether the neck belonged to prey or vampiric progeny. Some found it sensual, even sexual, taking deep pleasure in the act. For Serana it was simply food. She drank deeply, until her victim breathed his last and her appetite was sated, and left him a heap in his cell.

“Didn’t your maker tell you that it’s rude to infringe on another vampire’s territory?”

Serana whirled. A tall, pale Breton woman stood in the cell’s doorway, arms crossed. She wore blue robes, and red eyes flashed from beneath the shadow of a heavy hood.

Serana wiped her mouth and stood up straight, squaring her shoulders. She was a Daughter of Coldharbour, and unafraid of lesser vampires. “Had I known this was your territory, I would have found somewhere else to feed.”

“Fortunately for you, this prison is accustomed to clearing away corpses without asking too many questions. Less fortunately, I don’t abide intruders. You have limited time to clear out before I get...cross.”

Serana felt her nostrils flare. “Who are you to threaten me? My family has been in Haafingar for centuries. Perhaps it's you who’s trespassing on my territory.”

The Breton scowled. “Volkihar.”

“That’s right.”

The Breton stood aside. “Stay out of my city and we’ll have no trouble. I have no quarrel with Lord Harkon. We agreed long ago to stay out of each other's’ way.”

Serana nodded stiffly and swept out of the cell, leaving the other vampire behind. She wanted no trouble with other vampires. She’d had enough of that to last several lifetimes. 

But if Solitude was a claimed city, she’d have to find somewhere else to go.

~~~

She lost track of how long she drifted through Skyrim. It was easy for the nights to blur together, when once had lived for so many. She wove her way through each of the hold capitals, sitting in shadowed tavern corners and watching the world go by. 

She walked Skyrim’s roads, and when she tired of that, she veered off to explore game trails and the untouched wilds. Once she saw a dragon, circling a mountaintop in the distance, and she wondered what it was like to see the world from so far above.

Serana was not so old as the dragons were, but there were nights she felt it. It was almost enough to drive her back to her mother, to have someone who understood the experience of enduring so much for so long. But she didn’t give in to that urge, knowing she would regret it as soon as she stepped onto the island. 

By the time she wandered back to Windhelm, she had lost track of how long it had been since she left her mother. It could have been months, it could have been years. There were times Skyrim felt as out of time as Serana did, rarely changing much at all. Sailors and fisherfolk still filled the docks, stink still filled the cities, humans still lived and died without knowing much about what went on outside their little stone walls. 

Serana had grown weary of Skyrim.

On a whim, she emerged from the dingy Dunmer club where she’d spent the past few...days? Weeks?...and made her way to the docks. It was early evening, and cloudy--perfect for Serana, but cold and uncomfortable for most of Windhelm’s inhabitants. Guards clustered around braziers and torches, keeping cold eyes on the few people still working. 

She wove her way through the area, until she came to an imposing trading ship with bright sails and busy crew. Its hull named it the Dragon’s Wing.

Serana called out without thinking. “Ho, Captain!”

A muscled Nord man appeared on the ship’s gangplank, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “Can I help you, lass?”

“Where is this ship bound?” she asked. Her voice was almost a croak after going unused for so long.

“Our route takes us to Blacklight next.”

“And after?”

The Nord frowned. “Why do you ask? Where are you looking to go?”

“I have been in Skyrim too long,” Serana answered. “I wish to go somewhere else.”

“Valenwood good enough for you? We make way for Southpoint, before we sail for Solitude.”

“Southpoint sounds better than here.”

The captain named his price, and Serana stared him down until she had him convinced she had already paid in full, with extra for the ship’s best cabin. Three days later they were off, and Serana was watching Skyrim shrink in the distance. She doubted she would return. There were bitter ghosts there, and better memories to make in the nights to come.

As Serana left Skyrim behind, she realized she felt something she hadn’t felt in some time. Something she wasn’t sure she had ever felt, in her life that had lasted so long.

She felt free.


End file.
